I tried to be nice, but now you've gone too far.
I try to live by the "Live and Let Die" mantra everyday. I mean, we all have our vices- food, sex, heroin, reality TV- every one has something that isn't healthy that they do to fill a void, quench a thirst, deal with stress.
But you... you...
Your vice is the most disgusting and annoying of all time. Want to know why? Because you impose your smoking on me, as if I don't already have a vice of my own that I'm trying to quell, as if the air quality in Manhattan isn't already atrocious, as if the only one you're physically hurting is you.
At least other addicts only poison themselves! You don't see crackheads forcing pipes in the mouths of random people on the streets, do you? DO YOU? But you... you light up your little cancer stick and blow the smoke out into the air with no regard as to where it will travel to after it leaves your mouth. Want to know where it goes? In my hair. On my clothes. Up my nose and into my lungs. That's where it goes, and I'm SICK OF IT, literally!
Ever since I moved back and started working in Manhattan, I've been waking up with the nastiest smoker's cough... AND I DON'T SMOKE!! I don't even want to describe for you what I coughed up this morning because it's too gross to even relay.
In Brooklyn everything is cool; you smokers usually only congregate outside of bars... that I can almost tolerate because, for the most part, the smoke is contained to your little group. But in the City? Shiiiit...I can't fling an over-priced iced mocha latte without hitting a smoker outside of an office building, walking to the train, crossing the street, buying a dirty water dog...you get my point...spreading that shit all over my personal breathing space!
And I'm sure you'll read this and say, "Fuck you, Jaded NYer! I can smoke all I want!" And you'd be correct. You can smoke five, even ten packs a day if it suits you. But I don't want to smoke; I tried it before and it's grosser than gross. What your selfish ass doesn't realize is that when you smoke EVERYONE AROUND YOU SMOKES whether they want to or not, and I'm not having it. I'M NOT!!!
Just like I won't stand for the government telling me what I can do with some random fetus taking up space in my uterus, so will I NOT stand for having vices I have no interest in partaking in shoved down my lungs.
So here's what's what: I don't like you. I don't like having your nasty habit blown in my face and I really hate going home everyday smelling like an ashtray. I've tried to give you the side-eye, the stank-eye, the crook-eye, and even my special reserve, hardly-ever-use-it-'cause-I'm-trying-not-to-burn-in-eternal-damnation-forever-and-ever-evil-eye, but you continue on in your quest to give me lung cancer. So now you've pushed me to the limit.
Me can'ts take no more.
The next time you blow smoke in my face, I'm going to grab that cigarette from your nicotine stained fingers and put it out in your eye. That's right, you read correctly, YOUR EYE. Then I'm going to grab the rest of the cigarettes left in your pocket, break them up, and make you eat them! THEN, after you've shat or thrown up the (partially) digested vices you love so much, I'm gonna rub your fucking nose in it like I would while potty training a dog.
And if you don't believe I'll do it just fucking TRY ME!!!!!!!
In the meantime, TRUST that I am looking into how I can get your chimney-ass zoned right off the streets. Oh yeah, I'm taking it there, and if it takes the rest of my natural life and beyond, I will not stop until smokers are only allowed to do their nasty business in a tiny corner of their apartments, with the windows closed and the shades down like the FILTHY MCNASTIES that they are.
*smooches...desperately looking for a job in Brooklyn*
and don't even get me started on the ancient BITCHES in the office next door who smoke in the bathroom... the very bathroom I have to use... the one with no window... fucking whores...